His Butler, The Apprentice
by MWMurray
Summary: A mysterious young boy, with ties to the Phantomhive past, arrives at the mansion trying to escape a hard life.
1. Chapter 1

**His Butler, the Apprentice**

**Chapter 1: Runaway**

I seemed to have lost him, after I'd run as I never had before in my life. I took refuge under a footbridge, panting, trembling and lying full length on the ground, with my rucksack still on my back, and a stolen apple in each hand. I'd never nicked anything before in my life either, apart from the occasional sweet or biscuit every now and then. I knew it was wrong, but I hadn't had anything to eat beyond a thick hunk of sawdust-dry bread the previous day, and another that morning. Nor had I planned on being caught, but caught I was nonetheless, by one of the hired hands whose job it was to tend the orchard I'd happened upon.

"Come back 'ere, yeh pint-sized thief!" he'd bellowed. "Wait 'til I get me 'ands on yeh! Tan yer bloody 'ide, I will!"

He couldn't shout much more, since he'd had to save his breath for running. Somewhere down the line, though, he must have decided it was not worth chasing me all over Sussex County over a couple of apples, not when he still had a whole orchard to help tend.

Truth be told, I'd had no idea I could run so fast. I calmed down after a while. Of course I couldn't expect the hired hand to be happy about my pinching those apples, but one would have thought I'd made off with a gentleman's watch or something. That notion jarred loose an old memory of a rhyme from when I was little:

"_Who has stole my watch and chain,  
__Watch and chain, watch and chain?  
__Who has stole my watch and chain,  
__My fair lady?_"_  
_

That stirred up other memories: Two women, one dressed in white, the other in red, holding their arms outstretched to form an arch, under which passed an eight-year-old girl in a pink dress, a seven-year-old boy in a white sailor tunic and blue shorts, and another boy, five years old, dressed identically, but reluctant to join in the game:

"_Off to Newgate you must go,  
__You must go, you must go.  
__Off to Newgate you must go,  
__My fair lady_."_  
_

I divested myself from the reverie, and tried to decide which of the two apples to have first. I started in on the smaller one. It was all I could do to keep from cramming as much of it in my mouth as possible and wolfing it down.

_You don't want it coming back up_, I told myself firmly. That apple tasted sweeter than anything I'd had in months, especially while working in that horrible importer's warehouse down in Southampton. Juices ran down my chin, which I wiped up on the back of my hand and licked. I even ate the core of the apple, and spat out the seeds. After that, I felt as though I'd dined on a meal fit for a king – Henry VIII came foremost to mind. I shoved the other apple, the larger of the two, into my rucksack.

_Save it for later. If you have it today, you won't have it tomorrow_. I'd only happened upon that orchard by chance. I might not be so lucky in future. That was liable to become increasingly true, the closer I approached London. Orchards would give way to estates and townhouses.

I clambered down the ravine toward the brook running underneath the footbridge. The water looked clear enough. My father had taught me never to drink water from any source outdoors unless it was running. I scooped some up in my hands, and took a cautious sip. Deciding it was all right, I drank more. I finally pried off my worn low shoes (the only pair I owned) and eased my blistered, swollen feet into the cold water. It stung a bit at first, but after less than a minute, the pain went away.

The sun shone, casting sparkles on the brook. Hardly a cloud dappled the sky. I could have stayed and rested under that bridge with my feet in the water all day long. Reluctantly, I pulled them from the brook, shook the water from them, and put my shoes back on. Blisters or none, I had to keep moving, if I was to arrive where I was journeying by dark. I fought off a strong temptation to strip, wash off in the brook (how wonderful that would have felt!), and put on the other set of clothes from my rucksack, but no, time wouldn't permit it. I had to settle for splashing my face and hands. I didn't want to spend yet another cold night outdoors, on the hard earth, worrying about what creatures might crawl upon my body. Never mind that while I worked at that importer's, I lay awake listening to the sounds of rats, mice and God only knew what else scratching and gnawing inside the walls of the packed dormitory where I slept with the other boys.

Less than fifteen miles to go. Less than four hours' walking time, if I didn't tarry anymore. Thank God it was early summer, when the days were quite long. It was also before the beginning of "the season," when the wealthy journeyed from their estates on the outskirts of Greater London to their townhouses in the City. I'd have hated to have to walk the streets dressed as I was: a threadbare Norfolk jacket, frayed knickerbockers, stockings worn away to virtually nothing, and a stained, tatty shirt. I'd neither washed nor changed clothes for four days.

"Just let me make it to the Phantomhive estate before dark," I prayed. "And I'll … I'll …" I'd what? I'd had plenty of time to go over in my mind what I'd do once I arrived, but in my filthy, ragged state, I didn't nearly resemble the son of a great traveling stage magician, so much as a young street urchin. They could just as easily turn me away and bar the door on me before I'd had a chance to prove who I was. Well, just let me make it to the estate, and after that, whatever happened, happened. I scrambled back up the ravine, crossed the footbridge, and doggedly put one sore foot in front of the other.

It was a small miracle I was able to find the Phantomhive estate at all. I hadn't visited there in nearly three years, not since I'd just turned eight. My mother was still alive then, and living together with my father. Back then, I'd worn nice clothes, ate delicious foods, and lived in comfortable quarters. I'd had a room of my own with a soft warm bed to sleep in, and an abundance of games and toys to play with. I knew that the estate lay on the very edge of Greater London, if not just outside, but was it south, east, west or north of the City? I must have flagged more than a dozen passersby to ask for directions, only to be ignored, or worse, jeered at.

"D'you _really_ think you can beg off Lord Phantomhive? He won't take kindly to that, I'd reckon."

Meanwhile, the sun sank lower into the western sky. I had no watch, but I judged the time to be between four-thirty and five. I had practically no money either, certainly not enough to afford any kind of lodging in the City. If I loitered anywhere for too long, the police would arrest me for vagrancy. How I wished I had taken the time to wash and change clothes!

Why, oh, why had I run away? I couldn't have been any worse off at that importer's warehouse than where I was, wandering down a lonely dirt road. But with the prospect of a place to run to, I'd developed a resolve to do so, for probably the same reason Napoleon had elected to invade Russia in 1812: It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now everything felt so hopeless that all I wanted was to fling myself to the earth and bawl like a baby. I might have done just that too, had I not heard the sound of approaching hoof beats and the rattling of a carriage harness.

Two gray horses drew the carriage. They neither galloped nor trotted. They just ambled along, as though neither the driver nor the passengers were in any great hurry. I stopped and stared for the small carriage looked as though it belonged in a parade, or a young girl's birthday party. Someone had carefully braided and beribboned both horses' manes. Pink satin bows, ribbons and lace hung from the carriage itself. I ran out into the middle of the road.

"Oy! Which way is the Phantomhive estate?" I called, waving my arms and keeping my Norfolk jacket open to show that I carried neither dirk nor pistol.

The driver of the carriage merely flicked his whip across the horses' backs causing them to gallop. He pulled on the reins, steering the horses and carriage around me. I caught a glimpse of the passengers, both of whom were girls, one blonde, the other brown-haired.

"Which way is the Phantomhive estate?" I yelled, running after them.

Dust clouds trailed in their wake, mocking me. No point in attempting to pursue them further. I stood at the side of the road, sniffling, forcing back tears, and trying to reason out what to do.

That carriage had been covered at the top, but open at the front and sides, as though built to travel only during the day, especially with all the frilly trappings it bore. Wherever it was the driver and passengers were headed, it couldn't have been too far away. I followed the fresh tire tracks and horseshoe prints in the dirt as best I could. Any course of action had to be better than simply staying in place. I hadn't much hope of finding the Phantomhive estate, not anymore, but I thought perhaps I might come across a farmhouse or a cottage, where they'd let me rest a while, maybe even allow me to stay overnight and feed me in exchange for chores. I'd never made any arrangement like that before in my life, but it might work. I understood such things worked.

I no longer walked, but shuffled along the road until my feet felt as though they might fall off. Then, I saw a gravel path – not another dirt road – a gravel path, branching off from the main road! The tire tracks showed that the carriage had indeed turned from one to the other. Up ahead loomed the most beautiful sight I'd seen in more than a year. I just stood there, trying to take in the mansion and the estate, and hoping against my better sense.

_Anyone might live here_, I told myself. _It can easily not be the Phantomhive mansion_. And yet –

"Oh, God, please let it be," I prayed despite myself. "Please let it be."

I crept slowly up the gravel path, wondering whom I might encounter. I came upon a flower garden so colorful it would have sent the rainbow itself packing in shame. A bit further along, a girl in blonde hair and a red dress sat on a granite bench. She clipped the ends from various blooms and flowers, and inserted them into an ornate crystal vase. I guessed she was preparing a table centerpiece. She looked to be about thirteen or fourteen, a few years older than I was, and oddly familiar. Wonder and hope rose higher in me. Could she possibly be…?

"If you please, Miss." I spoke a bit more loudly than usual. I'd long rehearsed this over and over in my mind over the journey. She looked up sharply and stared at me. The flower whose stem she'd just clipped dropped from her hand. Could she possibly be…? She had to be! I was sure of it. How often do you run across blonde hair and green eyes?

"If you please, Lady Elizabeth Midford."

"I – I beg your pardon?" she stuttered incredulously, rising to her feet. "H-how did you know…?"

I wasted no time with explanations. Now that I had her full attention, I started what I'd planned shortly after I'd fled the import dealer. I had to act quickly, lest my one gossamer-thin chance vanish altogether. I yanked back the dirty, frayed sleeves of my shirt, to show that I had no trick devices up either of them, nor did I have anything in my hands. I then closed my left hand into a loose fist, and inserted the thumb and index finger of my right hand into the left. I concentrated with whatever might I could summon, and, thankfully, felt cloth materialize between my fingers. Normally, I would have extracted a red silk square. Instead, in my diminished state, I could only draw from my left hand a white cotton handkerchief.

"My goodness gracious!" Lady Elizabeth finally found her tongue. "How did you…? Where ever did you come…? Who _are_ you?"

That one simple sleight-of-hand trick, the very first one my father had taught me, had done what I'd needed it to do. Still, it had cost me nearly all my remaining energy. A wave of sickly yellow and black dots swam before my eyes. I felt myself starting to sway. I struggled to get the words out.

"I … am … David Jamison … Coppersmith."

With that, I fainted into Lady Elizabeth's arms.


	2. Chapter 2

**His Butler, The Apprentice**

**Chapter 2: "Let's Wash Him!"**

I came to slowly. I was lying on something soft, with my head propped up. I opened my eyes. My vision blurred as though I were under water. That couldn't be, though. I could breathe as well as ever. I glanced down at myself. My feet were bare. My jacket was missing. I lay between sheets, one under me, and one covering me.

A figure hovered over me. She had a vaguely human form. I knew it was a she as soon as she started talking.

"Davey," she said. "Davey, wake up. It's all right. You're safe now."

I stared up at her, trying to clear my vision. She had what looked like a halo about her head. Did that mean…?

"Did I make it?" My voice came out as scarcely more than a whisper. "Is this Heaven? Are you an angel?"

"Nooo, it's still Elizabeth." She put a damp face-flannel to my head. "You're in the Phantomhive mansion. Sh-sh-sh, everything's fine now."

I blinked. Tears slid down the sides of my face. My vision cleared. It was indeed Lady Elizabeth leaning over me. The "halo" I'd imagined had been her braids. I lay on a well-stuffed sofa, in a very ornately furnished parlor.

"You mean I'm not dead?" For a moment, I'd thought of the Match Girl, from the story by Hans Christian Andersen, trying to keep warm in the freezing cold, until her grandmother appeared, and took her away, to Heaven.

"You sound disappointed, young sir," said an unfamiliar baritone voice. "Are you?"

I looked round the parlor, and for the first time noticed a tall, slim man dressed in a severe-looking black tailcoat, waistcoat, trousers and tie. In fact, he was dressed all in black, except for a white shirt with a stiff collar, a crest affixed to the lapel of the coat and a silver watch and chain. ("_Who has stole my watch and chain, watch and chain, watch and chain?_")

"No," I said slowly. "No, I guess not. You are…?"

"I, young sir, am the butler for the House of Phantomhive." He bowed low to me. "I've already told my Young Master you're here, and he will be down to see you as soon as he can break away from his work."

"This Young Master of yours," I said. "That would be Ciel Phantomhive?"

"Indeed it would," replied the butler, raising his eyebrows. "Did you two know each other?"

I wasn't sure how to answer. It was impossible to live in England very long and not know _some_thing about the story of the Phantomhives, and their Funtom Company, foremost high-end manufacturer of toys and confections, Great Britain's answer to FAO Schwartz in New York City. My father had had some lucrative dealings with then-Lord Vincent Phantomhive before he'd deserted Mama.

"He used to visit here quite a bit when we were younger!" Elizabeth jumped in before I could marshal my thoughts. "His father's James Coppersmith!"

The butler merely raised his eyebrows again.

"James Coppersmith!" repeated Elizabeth shrilly. "The famous stage magician! Haven't you ever heard of him? Their family used to come and stay here while on tour."

Actually, there was a bit more to the story than that. My father had first come to Lord Vincent's attention when the Phantomhives had hosted a lavish party and ball for senior Funtom Company executives and their families. The Phantomhives had booked my father to provide entertainment. And provide entertainment my father had! It proved the beginning of a close business relationship that led to my own family's undoing.

I heard the sound of approaching footfalls, followed by the entrance of a boy about Lady Elizabeth's age, dressed in a brown frock coat, matching short trousers, gartered long socks and a bow string tie. He carried a walking stick that looked to have been made especially for him.

"Lord Ciel Phantomhive," the butler announced formally, while I tried to reconcile the blue-eyed playful nine-year-old, as I'd last known him, with the formally cold, frowning thirteen-year-old that stood in front of me. His hair, I noticed, had grown longer and floppier than I remembered, and he wore it in a heavy fringe in front of his right eye, to conceal a black eye patch.

I started to rise to my feet but the young lord motioned for me to stay as I was. Even so, I assumed a sitting position on the sofa. I am not proud to say this, but I took an instant dislike to him at first glance, because of his outfit, and also because he and I had not got along particularly well as younger children. I'd been five years old the first time the Phantomhives had hosted my family, while Ciel was seven, and at those ages, a two-to-three-year gap can seem quite a chasm indeed. He'd preferred to stick me in a corner with some his oldest (read, least interesting and most expendable) toys, and leave me to potter about on my own. I'd have been just as happy with that arrangement, but Lady Rachel Phantomhive, Angelina Durless (Ciel's aunt), my mother, and, surprisingly, Elizabeth all insisted that I be included in their games.

"You remember James and Ophelia Coppersmith," Elizabeth was saying to Ciel. It sounded more like a statement than a question.

"Well, of course I remember them," he answered with some asperity, "but what's that have to do with _him_?" He jerked his head toward me.

"This is their son," Lady Elizabeth insisted.

The young lord eyed Elizabeth skeptically, turned his gaze toward me, then back to Elizabeth. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," she replied impatiently. "Who else could he be? He's as much like his father as it's possible _to_ be." She held up the handkerchief. "He conjured this from thin air. I saw it. He's David Coppersmith, I know it!"

"All right, he's David Coppersmith." It was really something, the way they were all talking about me, as though I wasn't even in the room. "What's he doing here in my mansion?"

"He's run away," Elizabeth said.

"Run away!" Ciel eyed me suspiciously.

"I've been very unhappy since my father ran out on us." My voice cracked. Still, I thought I should say something on my own behalf. "And Mama remarried, and my step-father sent me to a terrible school, then made me work in a horrible place, and—"

"All right, all _right_!" The young lord cut me off. "So you decided you'd come here, is that it? Well, I suppose you can stay for a while, at least until we figure out what's best. Just don't start crying! It won't do you any good, and I can't stand histrionics." He paused and looked round at everyone. "Well? Now that we've got him, does anyone have any ideas on what we should do with him?"

"What _we_ should do with him?" The butler repeated slowly.

"Well, you and Elizabeth brought him in," Ciel pointed out, "and to _my_ mansion!"

Elizabeth brightened and jumped up. "I know! Let's wash him!"

"Now that," the young earl said, "is the most intelligent idea I've heard all day."

"I shall heat up the water immediately, Young Master." The butler withdrew.

Elizabeth seized me by the wrist, and half-led half-dragged me out of the parlor, as though I were but five years old again. "Come on Davey, a little soap and water never hurt anyone! You'll be as cute as a button before I'm through with you!"

"That's what I was afraid of," the earl muttered under his breath. He followed along in our wake.

That was her favorite word, "cute." I'd learned that at an early age. She and I hadn't always got on well either. Whenever our parents weren't around, Elizabeth liked nothing better than clapping me in one of her dresses and tying on a sun-bonnet, declaring me to be "just the cutest little thing ever!" Which, of course, embarrassed me to no end. Especially since I'd stopped wearing dresses after I'd turned four, at which age I'd been deemed "breeched."

Elizabeth pulled me into a bathroom, and gestured toward a stool. "Sit down there. Let's get those awful-smelling clothes off of you." She turned the tap and water started flowing into the bath.

My mind must have been working slower than normal, because only then did I suddenly realize that if I let her take off my shirt, she'd see – no, I couldn't let her!

"Come on, now, this is no time to be shy." She reached for the top button on my shirt.

I pulled away. "I can do this myself!"

"Don't be silly," she answered, shutting off the valve when the bath was a good half-foot deep. "You can just barely stand up. Now sit down there and hold still. Sebastian'll be in with the hot water any minute."

I doubted that, whoever this Sebastian was. Still, I did as I was told. Elizabeth unbuttoned, and slipped my shirt from my shoulders. She then lifted up my vest – and screamed! I had expected some reaction from her when she had a look at my bare back, but not nearly one that extreme. In any case, it brought both the earl and the butler bursting into the bathroom.

"What's going on?" Ciel demanded.

Whimpering, Elizabeth pointed to the latticework of scars and lacerations that criss-crossed my back, like a grisly game of Noughts and Crosses. No one spoke for several seconds.

"Who did this to you?" the earl asked quietly. "Was it your step-father?"

I nodded.

"We'll talk in my study later, after you've finished here." He put his hand on Elizabeth's arm. "Come on, let's go." He led the still-distraught girl from the bathroom.

"The hot water is all ready," the butler announced. "Those wounds should be cleaned out." He gestured with the two steaming kettles he carried.

"You've got the water hot already?" My eyes widened. "That's impossible! What did you do, use a flame-thrower?"

Instead of answering, the butler merely smiled, and started pouring the contents of one kettle into the tub. "Really, young sir, if I couldn't do this much for any guest of my Master's, well, what kind of butler would I be?" He finished pouring, pulled back his sleeve and tested the water with his elbow. "I believe that should be to your liking." The butler made short work of the rest of my clothes. Knickerbockers, vest, pants and everything else came off, and then the butler slowly and effortlessly lowered me into the bath. I gasped as the hot water stung the sores on my feet and my back.

"There, now, young sir, the pain will go away. You don't want those sores to become infected." He picked up a face-flannel and bar of soap, and gingerly set to washing me. I lay back and submitted to his ministrations. He'd obviously performed this task before. "Where in the world have you _been_, young sir?"

Before my father had deserted us, I went along with him and my mother while they toured. We stayed in many homes of wealthy families who chose to financially back my father and his magic act. I can't say as I ever got used to being looked after and bathed by strange maids, governesses and other house staff, but I had at least grown sanguine about it.

After only a few minutes, a young woman appeared. She had on a maid's outfit, with round glasses so huge and thick they completely obscured her eyes. I wondered how she was even able to see out of them.

"You wanted me, sir?" She spoke in a strong Cockney accent.

"Ah, yes, Mey-Rin, would you kindly see to those?" The butler jerked his head toward what had recently been my clothes. Now that I no longer wore them, they resembled nothing so much as a pitiful pile of rags.

The maid – if that's what she was – wrinkled her nose. "What do want me to do wi' _these_? Things smell to 'igh 'eaven, they do!"

The butler shook his head, as though the answer should have perfectly obvious. "There is only one thing _to_ do with them, Mey-Rin. Have Baldroy do what he does best, and burn them."

"In the oven, sir?"

The butler sighed in mild exasperation. "Actually, this is one time I would prefer that he used his flame-thrower – outdoors, not in the kitchen."

The maid gathered the rags up with one hand, while she held her nose with the other, and exited.

"Who's this Baldroy?" I asked. "And what's he doing with a flame-thrower?"

"Baldroy is our chef for the Phantomhive household," the butler replied. "As for the flame-thrower, let's save that for later. Right now, it's time to rinse you off." The butler picked up the other kettle. "Close your eyes. Tilt your head back."

The warm water flowed over me, rinsing off the shampoo and soap. It felt absolutely wonderful, and I felt truly clean for the first time in months.

"I shall return in a short while with some clothes for you. Meanwhile, relax and enjoy your bath, young sir." He rose and turned to leave.

"Excuse me!" He stopped. "Excuse me, erm, Mister Butler, sir. I – I don't think I caught your name."

"Why, you may call me Sebastian." He smiled. "And there's no need for you to 'sir' me. You see…I am simply one_ hell_ of a butler!"


	3. Chapter 3

**His Butler, The Apprentice**

**Chapter 3: Confinement**

The clothes Sebastian brought me turned out to be no more than a thin cotton nightshirt and a warm dressing gown. He lifted me out of the bath, and while it drained, he patted me dry with a soft towel, taking care not to rub any of my sores. Despite my feeble protests that I could dress myself, he buttoned the nightshirt and tied the gown around me. He then lifted me in his arms.

"You shouldn't walk in your bare feet," he said. "You'll re-infect the sores, and irritate those blisters."

He carried me bridal-style down the hall into a small bedroom, and set me down on the bed. After the months at the importer, sleeping on little more than a potato sack stuffed with straw, that bed felt a cloud – the puffy white sort on which I'd used to imagine angels slept – assuming they slept at all.

Sebastian had evidently set the room up as a temporary infirmary while I was still in the bath. He couldn't have done so all by himself, though, not in such a short space of time. A tray on wheels sat near the bed stocked with bottles, cotton swabbing, bandages and other items. In addition to the pillows at the head of the bed, two more pillows lay at its other end, and it was on these that Sebastian propped up my feet.

"Just lie there," he told me, "while I tend to those sores. My Master has instructed me to see to your needs."

He picked up a ball of cotton and jar, dabbed some of its contents onto the cotton and began gingerly salving the wounds on my feet. It burned for a second or so, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. He then picked up a small, sharp-looking piece of metal – a lancet!

My feet flew from the pillow as if of their own accord. I curled up in a fetal position. "What are you going to do with _that_?"

"I'm going to drain some of the blisters on your feet," he explained. "Really, young sir, you must not be so squeamish. Now put your feet back on the pillows, and if it bothers you that much, look away."

Very reluctantly, I did as I was told. He gripped my ankle firmly. I guess he wanted to make sure I didn't yank my foot back again. I tightly closed my eyes, moaning. My fingers dug into the sides of the bed. I felt something lightly stroking the arch of my right foot, then something soft pressing against it. I opened my eyes to see Sebastian holding a cotton swab against my foot while the discharge drained from the blister. After a few moments, he set to work with gauze, bandages and scissors.

"There, you see, we're all finished," he announced "That wasn't such an ordeal, now was it?"

Embarrassed, I shook my head no. Sebastian took away the pillows under my feet, and told me to turn over. Once I had done so, he undid the gown and nightshirt, and began salving and bandaging the lacerations on my back.

May-Rin appeared, bearing a huge mug nearly the size of a tankard. Steam wafted from it. "Broth's ready, Sebastian." She looked at me fondly. "'ow's our patient doin'?"

I was about to say I was much better, thank you, when Sebastian smoothly cut in.

"As you see, I've about finished the bandaging. My compliments to both you and Baldroy on a job well done. You see what you can accomplish when Baldroy uses proper cooking methods, and _you_ don't run inside the mansion."

He took the mug from Mey-Rin and pressed it to my lips. "I know you must be hungry, young sir, but you'll want to start off with light foods. Nothing too heavy or rich. Now get as much of this in you as you can hold."

"This" turned out to be chicken broth, with bits of carrot, celery and even white chicken breast meat added. If I'd thought that apple I'd had earlier constituted a meal fit for a king, that was nothing compared to that mug of broth. It filled my empty stomach, and its warmth permeated my body. My eyelids began to feel heavy.

"I expect you'll want to rest now." Sebastian put the now-empty mug on the cart, and wheeled it away from the bed. He drew the drapes shut, darkening the room. "Try to sleep. I shall wake you for dinner. Meanwhile, you are to stay in bed."

I tried to think of something to say, to thank him for all he had done for me, and could only come up with, "You've been dam' kind." I guess he wasn't used to receiving even meager compliments. He paused at the door.

"Stay in bed, young sir." He and May-Rin left, with Sebastian wheeling the cart out of the room.

I was only too happy to stay in bed. It and the bath felt like the very paradigm of luxury itself. I snuggled down under the sheets and blankets, and closed my eyes.

_"Tell me, Coppersmith. Supposing that I were to go an ironmonger's shop and purchase fourteen hundred nails at fifty per shilling. How much would I spend?"_

I was back at Boothby's School for Boys, the first – and last – formal education I'd had since my mother divorced my father and remarried. I was seated in a roomful of boys ranging in age from seven to sixteen, behind long rows of desks, with inkwells, slates and chalk.

I wrote the pertinent figures on the slate in front of me, and starting trying to come up with the answer. I wasn't fast enough to suit Mr. Boothby.

"It oughtn't take you this long to answer. Not if you know your multiplications. You do know them, don't you? Tell me. _How much would I spend_?"

"I've almost got the answer, sir. Please, I need just a little more time…"

"Almost have the answer? _Almost_ have the answer, you say? Either you have an answer or you haven't one! Clearly, you haven't one! I shall tolerate your laziness no more!" Mr. Boothby seized me by the collar of my jacket and dragged me toward the front of the classroom.

"No, please, Mr. Boothby!" My voice rose in fear of what lay ahead. "Please don't hurt me, Mr. Boothby! I really tried!" I went on crying and pleading with him in front of whole class, while he stripped me of my jacket and threw me across his desk. The first lashing was always the hardest, cutting into my flesh like a sword.

I was suddenly jolted awake from my dream. I looked around wildly, terrified at my being in a strange room. I had to take a few minutes to remember where I was. It was growing dark outside. A look at the clock bedside the bed showed it was still early in the evening. Shouldn't Sebastian be coming round to wake me for dinner? I was not exactly starving, though, not after that huge mug of broth. Maybe the butler decided I would be better off with a good night's uninterrupted sleep. I snuggled back down under the covers.

I was about to doze off again when an argument I could hear clear from the other end of the hall rendered me fully awake.

"_Young Master! How many times must I warn you against sneaking sweets and spoiling your dinner?_"

"_I was __not__ sneaking sweets! I was doing product evaluation! That Belgian chocolate maker's finally gotten round to sending us some samples. How am I supposed to accept or reject them for the Funtom Company if I don't thoroughly evaluate their product? Honestly, Sebastian!_"

If there was anything else to their exchange, I didn't hear the rest of it. I was starting to feel lonesome – an all-too-familiar state of mind for me. After Mr. Boothby had finished lashing me, he'd sent me home, where my stepfather confined me to my room, but not before stripping it barren of all my cherished toys and playthings. I have no idea how long I was confined there, with nothing but a chamber pot to relieve myself, and a couple shelves of books to keep me company.

In this room in the Phantomhive estate a tall bookcase rested against a wall. But it was too dark in the room to read, and there was no source of light handy. I wished the maid or one of the other servants would come in to talk to me. But it was approaching dinnertime, and they were all probably very busy at the moment. Ciel Phantomhive had assigned his butler to see to my needs, and the butler had decided what I needed most was to stay in bed.

As if on cue, I heard the squeak of wheels outside the room. The door opened to reveal Sebastian pushing a cart bearing a covered bowl, utensils and a napkin.

"Ah, I see you've awakened, young sir." He slid the cart over my bed. "I hope you enjoyed a good rest." He removed the cover from the bowl, revealing a chicken and vegetable soup so thick it almost might have passed as a stew, along with a water goblet and a couple slices of French peasants' bread.

"I think you'll find dinner to your liking." He spread the napkin out over my lap. For a moment, I thought he was going to pick up the spoon and feed me as though I were an infant, but he didn't. "You should be able to handle solid foods tomorrow morning."

"Thank you very much, Sebastian," I said. I hesitated, unsure of how to phrase my request.

"You require something else, young sir?"

"Well…I don't want to seem ungrateful, after all you and the earl have done for me. But I was wondering if maybe one of the servants could come in. Just to talk, and be with me. Until I fall asleep. Please?"

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, young sir, but the servants are engaged at the moment. Perhaps Lady Elizabeth might consent to see you for a while."

"She's still here?"

"Yes. She was temporarily indisposed from having seen you in your present condition. She seemed awfully upset at the treatment you've received. However she has calmed down and – "

"Davey!" No mistaking who that voice belonged to. "Davey, they said you were tired and couldn't have any visitors, but you're awake now." Elizabeth eagerly swept into the room, followed by Ciel. "Are you feeling any better at all?" she asked.

"I'm feeling much better now," I told her.

"Young Coppersmith has just informed me that he was feeling lonesome, and in need of companionship," Sebastian said. "However, I think it would be best to wait until after he's finished his dinner."

"You haven't eaten yet?" exclaimed Elizabeth. "That's not good. That's not good at all!" Before anyone could say anything, she seized the spoon, and dipped it into the stew or soup or whatever it was. "Open wide!"

I started to protest that that wasn't necessary, that I could eat on my own, when she popped the spoon into my mouth.

"Lizzy, I think he can handle that just fine by himself." That earned the earl a furious look from Elizabeth.

"He needs to rest, and get better," she declared imperiously. "Don't you want him to get better?"

Apparently sensing he couldn't win this one, Ciel turned on his heel. "Fine, then! I'll be in my study if anyone needs me."

"I should go too," Sebastian said. "The kitchen and dishes need cleaning up, and there is the matter of fetching the Young Master his tea and dessert." He withdrew, leaving me alone with Elizabeth.

"Right then!" She dipped the spoon into the stew once more. "Now, here's one for Ciel! And one for Sebastian! And one for Tanaka…"

I was embarrassed at being cosseted like this, but I didn't exactly mind having her with me either. I knew her to be the Earl Phantomhive's betrothed, and I was afraid of offending my host by accepting her attentions. However, I also knew from first-hand experience that it was never a good idea to upset Elizabeth. Ever since we were very little, I had the same sort of feelings toward her that I imagine a younger brother has for an older sister, viewing her as sometime persecutor and sometime protector.

"There, all done!" She replaced the bowl onto the tray, and looked around the room. "I know! I'll read you a story until you fall asleep. Doesn't that sound wonderful?" She drew a leather-bound tome from the bookcase: _Selected Works of Lewis Carroll_.

" 'One summer day Alice was sitting on the riverbank with her older sister. Alice's sister was reading a book and Alice noticed that the book didn't have any pictures, which made Alice lose interest in it. Then as she looked out into the meadow, she saw something very peculiar…' "

Elizabeth continued reading for a while more. I sank into the covers and lay in bed, enjoying the soft sounds of her voice. Finally, she closed the book, put it back where she found it, and blew out the kerosene lamp beside the bed. We bade each other good night, and she bent down and kissed me lightly on the forehead. She sat beside me on the bed for a couple moments, looking down at me. I could have sworn I'd heard her whisper something like, "Poor little fellow." In any event, she rose and left, closing the door with a quiet thud.

Once more alone in the dark room, I closed my eyes and drifted off to a deep blissful sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**His Butler, The Apprentice**

**Chapter 4: Making Myself Useful**

I awoke to find myself curled up in a fetal position. Sometime during the night, I'd wrapped my arms around one of the pillows, and held it to me, seeking comfort from it. I heard the soft thud of footfalls on the parquet floor and sensed I was not alone. I opened one eye just a tiny bit, and saw two faces looking down on me. One of them was Mey-Rin. The other looked unfamiliar. He was a blond boy several years older than I was. He had clips in his hair to hold it out of his eyes.

"Just look at him!" Mey-Rin said in a low voice, with her hands clasped together. "All snuggled up wi' the pillow. 'e looks so cute, yes 'e does! I 'ate to wake him up."

"He looks just like a baby," agreed the blond boy. "I could watch him all day."

"Well, you won't have time for it!" Sebastian's voice jarred me out of my half-slumber. I sat up in bed rubbing my eyes, while the butler set a steaming basin down on top of the bureau.

"You woke 'im up!" Mey-Rin reproached.

"It was about time for that anyway," Sebastian shot back. "Also, he was at least partially awake, and probably heard everything you two said. Now leave the clothes here, and start preparing Master's things. We have no time for dawdling!"

"Sir! Yes, sir!" The two of them were off like a shot.

"Positively hopeless, those two," Sebastian sighed, shaking his head. "Good morning, young sir. I see you've met our gardener, Finny." It was amazing how he could change from tough taskmaster to suave butler with seemingly the greatest of ease. "You'll find a basin of warm water on the bureau for your morning ablutions, and fresh clothes in the cupboard. I shall return shortly to render any assistance you may need."

After he left, I skinned off the dressing gown and nightshirt. One didn't ordinarily wear a dressing gown to bed, but I'd never grown accustomed to how much colder rooms were kept in England than in the United States. After washing my face, shoulders and neck, I checked the cupboard in which hung my other set of clothes from my rucksack, now cleaned and pressed, and a dark blue suit with a note handwritten in blue ink: "_Compliments of Phantomhive House,_" and signed with a scrawl beginning with the letter C.

In the bureau I found vests, pants, stockings and garters to hold them up. I slipped on the trousers, shirt and waistcoat, leaving the jacket for later. In those days, for a man or a boy to wear only a shirt without at least a waistcoat, and preferably a jacket, was deemed inexcusably vulgar. I selected a tie and knotted it as best I knew how. Finally, a box in the bottom of the cupboard yielded a pair of black leather shoes in just my size. How had the butler pulled that trick off? He'd taken neither my shoe size, nor any measurements.

Should I make up the bed? I wondered. It was probably the servants' job, but it would help pass the time until Sebastian returned. I ended up doing so, partially because I decided it was better to err on the side of what I considered good manners, and partially from force of habit. My family never had any servants except for a housekeeper and she went home every night. I pulled up the covers smooth and taut, and made sure the duvet was straight on both sides. I heard a knock on the door. It was Sebastian.

"Ah, I see you've managed to dress yourself." I'd always dressed myself since I was six. The butler made it sound like a complicated operation. He knelt down as though inspecting me. "But your tie is a little crooked. Let's see what we can do about that." He re-tied the knot and nodded approvingly. "There. Now you look ready for breakfast." He looked at the re-made bed. "Not a bad job, actually. However, the duvet is a half-inch lower on one side than the other."

How had he known that from just a casual glance? Well, he was a butler. Maybe butlers were trained to notice things like that.

"Are you sure these'll be all right?" I asked, indicating my trousers. "They look a bit short." In fact, they stopped a couple of inches above my knees, while the stockings didn't quite come up to them.

"Don't worry, young sir. They're just the thing for a boy your age. Now, we'd best not keep the young master waiting." He held out his hand. I took it and allowed him to lead me downstairs, to the main dining room. The long table, designed for a banquet, contained only two occupants, both of whom stood when Sebastian and I entered. The next second, the table contained only one occupant, as a pink blur flew at me like a comet.

"Look at you!" Elizabeth held me at arm's length and looked me up and down. "Don't you just look adorable? I knew that outfit would be so cute on you!"

I blushed. My outfit didn't differ much from what the young earl wore, though his appeared fancier, and his trousers somewhat longer. In any case, I was used to having my knees covered. I felt almost naked and embarrassed with bare knees, and doubly so with Elizabeth seeing them that way. Her comments about how "cute" the clothes looked didn't exactly put me at ease either. It may seem like a trifling matter these days, but this was a time when a woman's uncovered ankle was thought scandalous. I felt the shorts ride up when I sat down, baring a few more inches of skin. At least the tablecloth and napkin helped hide my legs.

"Lizzy," Ciel admonished, "you say that about everyone. Now let the man have a bit of breakfast."

"We'll begin with a fresh fruit salad," announced Sebastian, "followed by a main course of small sausages, scrambled eggs, and sliced tomato. Today's side dish will consist of toast with a variety of Tiptree preserves."

I looked down at my place setting, which luckily for me, contained only a salad fork and breakfast fork, along with the butter knife and teaspoon. I'd seen some table arrangements that appeared flat-out intimidating, with a greater variety of forks, knives, spoons, and drinking vessels that were meant for more specific purposes than I, with my American middle-class background, had ever dreamed existed.

The fruit salad, when it arrived, contained not only apples and grapes, but orange slices (a luxury item in those days!), pineapple chunks, and even kiwi fruit. Only the well-to-do could afford those. I sensed that the earl was watching me to see which fork I picked up first, the way a naturalist might observe the feeding habits of an animal in the wild. I felt irritated. Even I knew you were supposed to start with the outermost utensils and work your way in. When you were finished with your first course, you left your fork tines down in the eight o'clock position on your plate – leaving the tines up in any position would have been thought _gauche_. My family had stayed with enough wealthy people, and I'd received enough instruction from various house staff to know that much. Moreover, concepts like basic table etiquette were drilled into boys' heads with far more vigor than they are nowadays, it seems.

May-Rin came into the dining room bearing a large tin and several rags. "Oh, there you are!" she exclaimed at me. "Thought you'd left, yes I did!"

"Why would he do something like that, May-Rin?" Ciel asked, annoyed.

"Why, I was going to straighten up his room, and the place 'ardly looked touched! Bed was all made up like no one ever slept in it, yes it did!"

Ciel's blue eyes grew even larger and rounder than normal. "You make up your own bed, do you?" he asked as though the concept were alien to him.

"Why, yes I do," I replied. I was tempted to add, "Whose bed do you make up?" paraphrasing Abraham Lincoln, after a foreign diplomat was astounded to see the president shining his own shoes. But cocking a snook like that at my host might not be such a good idea, and I thought better of it.

"May-Rin," said Sebastian, "might I ask just what you're planning to do with that tin of saddle soap?"

"Saddle soap?" She looked in horror at the tin. "Oh, no! I was going to polish the banister wi' this, yes I was!" She hurried off, embarrassed.

When breakfast was over, and the dishes cleared away, a young woman whom Elizabeth introduced as Paula dropped by, announcing she was here to take Elizabeth back home. ("One crisis down, and one more to go!" Ciel muttered when Elizabeth said her thanks and good-byes, and the carriage drove down the gravel path.) Aloud, the earl told me, "I'd like to see you in my study this afternoon. I have to go out on business this morning, but I think it's high time we had that talk."

"What about your dance lesson with Mrs. Rodkin?" reminded the butler. "If you recall, you cancelled the lesson last week as well."

Ciel shrugged. "Can't be helped, Sebastian."

"If you keep this up, Young Master, Mrs. Rodkin will stop coming by altogether, and you'll have to take instruction from – " he caught himself, and changed his words in mid-sentence. "—your original instructor." He smiled down at the earl as though pleased at the prospect. The earl gave him a grumpy look in return.

Ciel showed me to his study. "I have to get going in a few minutes, but in the meanwhile, I'd like you to familiarize yourself with the rules for this game." He handed me a sheaf of paper. "Read over them and be prepared to play it this afternoon."

"You want me to play a game with you?" I approached the table and looked board and playing pieces over. "I don't think I've ever seen that one before."

"You haven't," Ciel said. "It's a prototype that I need to evaluate for the Funtom Company. My servants haven't time for such things, and as long as you're here, you may as well make yourself useful."

"I would think you'd have a staff to handle these kinds of tasks," I ventured.

"I do, at my factory in London," he said. "They handle the preliminary evaluations of toys and sweets, most of which get rejected, by the way. I have the final word on product evaluations."

It must be wonderful, I mused, to be able to eat sweets and play games in the name of product evaluation. Of course I had no real idea what it entailed, but had a grown-up, businesslike sound to it that appealed to me.

"I am grateful to you for letting me stay," I said. "You know that, don't you?"

"Let's get one thing straight right now," Ciel answered shortly. "I'm not letting you stay here out of kindness. I just haven't forgotten the favors your father did for the Funtom Company, and for my predecessor."

Interesting way of putting it, that. Not "father" or "parents," but "predecessor." Here I thought I was being clever and distancing myself by vowing only to think of the man my mother married as my father, never again as "Papa."

"Besides," he went on, "if I didn't let you stay, Elizabeth would get upset, and since she's my fiancé, I can't afford that."

I couldn't argue with him there.


	5. Chapter 5

**His Butler, The Apprentice**

**Chapter 5: "Children Have a Greed for Games"**

"Well, _that_ meeting was one big waste of time!" Ciel declared upon entering the drawing room. "I pay them good money to come up with new ideas for games and it's nothing but the same old rubbish! Who do those fools think they're dealing with?"

I'd been studying the rules of the game Ciel had wanted to play, as instructed off and on for the past few hours – more off than on as time passed. By the time he and Sebastian returned from the City, I wanted to take a nap, then ask Baldroy if I might make myself a sandwich.

"If the Young Master will excuse me," replied Sebastian, "the correct word is 'whom,' not 'who.' Also, you should not end sentences in prepositions."

"Thank you, I get enough of that from Professor Watkins every Tuesday and Thursday." Ciel flung himself into the chair opposite mine.

"Use of proper syntax is especially important in your line of work, my lord."

"Sebastian—"

"Your reputation, both as an earl and the owner of a prestigious business, will suffer if you persist in—"

"Sebastian!" Ciel raised his voice. 'Lecture me on grammar' is _not_ an order! 'Go down to the kitchen, prepare lunch for myself and my guest, and stop carrying on like an ass' is an order."

"Yes, my lord." I could not help noticing a sly smile on the butler's face, as though he enjoyed teasing and provoking the earl. Also, for the first time, I sensed an otherworldly aura emanating from Sebastian, suggesting he was something more than simply a butler. I hadn't sensed any such thing previously, not in my tired, weakened, (and hungry!) state. But after I'd had a sound rest and a couple of honest-to-goodness meals, my abilities had started to return.

"Dance instructor wouldn't cancel the bloody lesson," Ciel informed me. "So we'll have to save the game for later. But we need to talk now."

"What do you want to talk about?" I asked, hoping Sebastian wouldn't take too long in bringing lunch. He might, considering the way Ciel spoke to him.

"I want to know what it was you felt you had to run away from, and why. You mentioned a terrible school, and your stepfather making you work in a horrible place."

I shook my head. "You wouldn't understand. You live in a big mansion, you've got that butler and servants to wait on you hand and foot, all the food and sweets you want whenever you want it, and more money than probably any ten people would know what to do with!"

"You don't know as much about me as you think you do."

"I know you're an earl," I said, "with a title and everything that goes with it. Do you know what it's like being made to look like a fool in front of a whole schoolroom every day? Or being lashed until you bleed, just because you don't know the answer to what the teacher asks you? I do! Do you have any idea how humiliating it is being made to cry and beg in front of all your classmates? I do! Do you know what it's like being kept in a small room, with nothing and no one to play with or talk to?"

I knew a few things about him. I knew that the mansion had burned down when Ciel was ten, and that he'd disappeared for a month. No one seemed to know where he'd gone or what had happened to him. But he'd changed greatly from a rollicking playful child always smiling to a reserved teenager who seldom smiled, and almost never laughed. Like me, he'd had to grow up quickly in a short space of time. Perhaps I shouldn't have been so quick to judge him.

"Was that why you ran away?" Ciel asked.

I shook my head. "Sometime after I was sent home from school, my stepfather sent me to an imports dealer down in Southampton. They had me washing the labels off old wine bottles and sticking new ones on. It was a depressing place. There were other boys my age there, and hardly a day passed when at least one of us didn't get cuffed, slapped or yelled at for mistakes, or for not working fast enough."

"How long were you there?"

"Months. Better part of a year, in fact. Then one day, I got lashed for mis-labeling bottles as merlot that should have been labeled as black cabernet. It was all pretty much the same plonk, though."

Ciel nodded. "I saw the marks on your back. Have they been treated, by the way?"

"Yes, Sebastian bandaged them last night."

"I'll see that he puts a fresh dressing on them tonight." He shifted his position in the chair. "Tell me about your parents. Your mother?"

I shrugged. "What's there to tell? She's dead."

"I'm sorry," Ciel said. "It hurt losing my parents as well. She drowned, didn't she? I remember seeing something in the papers about it."

"Every day after she remarried, she got a bit lower and lower." I closed my eyes. "After I was sent away to school, she sneaked away from the house and wound herself up with heavy chains and locked them with a padlock so they couldn't come off. She then threw the key into the Thames and jumped in after it. She never came up again."

Ciel was silent for a few moments. "And your father? What about him?"

"He deserted us, a few months after our last visit here," I said. My father had enjoyed life as a traveling magician. But after marrying my mother and having me, he needed less precarious ways of earning money and supporting us. "Do remember a line of magic kits my father developed for the Funtom Company?"

"Those always sold well," Ciel nodded. "Children have a greed for such things. My predecessor paid your father a generous licensing fee and royalties for the right to market them."

"That's what enabled us to live here. It also enabled my father to take up traveling full time. That's when he deserted my mother and me, and she divorced him, and remarried."

"Do you know where he is now?"

I shook my head. "Touring Europe last I heard. But that was months ago. I've not heard from him since. He could be dead too for all I know."

"If he's performing," Ciel said, "he ought to be easy to track down."

"What good would that do?"

"He might be persuaded to take you back," Ciel said. "Something has to become of you. You can't stay here forever. What you did was reckless, and no matter what, I'll have to write to your stepfather."

"Will I be turned back over to him?" I gripped the arms of the chair anxiously.

"I don't know. Perhaps. But once we find your real father, maybe he'll take you instead."

I snorted. "You mean _if_ you find him. And if you did, it wouldn't do any good. He doesn't care at all about me. He's a lost cause."

"You don't know that." Ciel leaned forward in his chair. "Look, both my parents are dead. You've at least still got a father, even if he did desert your mother."

"Lost, run away, deserted, dead…what's the difference?"

"If your father is still alive, he might be persuaded to come back for you." Ciel turned partially away, and lowered his face. "But once something is truly lost, you can never get it back again."


End file.
